How like a mounting devil in the heart
Rules the unreined ambition! Let it once
But play the monarch, and its haughty brow
Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought,
And enthrones peace forever. Putting on
The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns
The heart to ashes, and with not a spring
Left in the bosom for the spirit's life,
We look upon our splendor, and forget
The thirst of which we perish!
Oh, if earth be all, and heaven nothing,
What thrice mocked fools are we!
N. P. Willis.
CLXX.
CASABIANCA.
The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
The flames rolled on. He would not go
Without his father's word;
That father faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He called aloud: "say, father, say
If yet my task is done!"
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.
"Speak, father!" once again he cried,
"If I may yet be gone!"
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death
In still, yet brave despair;
And shouted but once more aloud,
"My father! must I stay?"
While o'er him fast through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapt the ship in splendor wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child
Like banners in the sky.